


The Wrath of Grapes

by Luci_Cunt



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Fic, Geralt's still a witcher tho, I literally have no idea what this is but here, Lost in the Woods, M/M, Modern AU, Pre-Slash, geralt is a monster nerd because I said soo, happy ending!, if you don't like the word 'fuck' I wouldn't rec reading :D, no beta we die like the show being able to sweep Jaskier under the rug as a side character, unregulated mixing of game/ book/ tv show lore because I can, very brief mentions of suicidal intentinos, very conveniently placed caves and cabins, yen is still a witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luci_Cunt/pseuds/Luci_Cunt
Summary: “Geralt?” Jaskier called, eyes not moving from the beast that was staring him down not four feet away.“I’m coming,” Geralt snapped.“How--um, how big do scorpions usually get?” he called. Geralt didn’t answer and Jaskier didn’t dare look away from the roughly dog sized scorpion staring him down and raising its tail up to look terrifyingly threatening. “Just, ah, just asking for a friend, a verylargefriend who is--charging!GERALT!”For entirely unrelated reasons, Geralt and Jaskier find themselves on the same hike up the same mountain to the same cabin. Things do not go as planned.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 389





	The Wrath of Grapes

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no explanation for this, but the Witcher is my new hyperfixation and I did a lot of research on the monsters and had to say it was for something so behold: fic.
> 
> This is a modern au where Geralt is still a witcher but they're on the DL, humans do not realize monsters exist and Jaskier is one of those humans. 
> 
> I hope y'all like this? I spent a whole day writing this just for the griffin scene so.... 
> 
> (oh and final note: it's been a LONG time since I read the Grapes of Wrath so if my memory betrayed me [very likely] I'm sorry because the title won't make sense XDD)
> 
> [ tumblr!](https://luci-cunt.tumblr.com/)

**I**

Jaskier was excellent at many things. He could talk his way out of--and into--nearly every situation imaginable, his singing voice had been described as unearthly and wonderous, he could play the lute superbly (and who even knew what a lute was now), he was handsome, kind, read voraciously and was shockingly smart. 

Something he was not good at, however, was making decisions that involved his own personal well being. 

Which is exactly why he found himself at the bottom of a mountain on a clear, crisp Sunday morning. He had his hands on his hips, lute on his back, and a smile that screamed “I have no idea what I’m getting myself into but I will commit whole-heartedly.” 

Geralt was excellent at exactly two things: fighting and monsters. He could tell you just about anything about every monster in existence, including--but not limited to--sleeping habits, diets, mating patterns, how to track them, how to hunt them, how to deal with them in a way that was not killing and, also, how to kill them. 

He wasn’t very good--or interested--in much else. 

Which is exactly why he found himself dumped out of a portal at the bottom of a mountain he was supposed to be portaled to the _top_ of. He had his swords, his potions and a deep scowl on his face from his parting conversation with his now ex, Yennefer. He figured he should at least be grateful she portaled him nearby his intended location, rather than, say, the middle of the Atlantic. 

He cursed himself and stood up, dusting off his armor and taking in his surroundings. 

“To whatever is lurking in the bushes: I wish you no harm,” a voice called suddenly. “Honestly, I really probably couldn’t hurt you if I tried, so you just stay in the woods over there and I’ll just keep moving this way and we can both go about our days.” 

Geralt turned towards where the voice was coming from. The trees and bushes were too thick to see anything though. 

“Is this how this whole journey is going to be? Me, rambling to the trees, trying to appeal to nature's greater kindness?” The voice went on, and Geralt realized whoever was talking probably hadn’t spotted him at all and was just talking to themselves. 

_What a nutcase._

“At least this path isn’t so bad,” the voice said, which actually piqued Geralt’s interest. Finding the cabin would be a hell of a lot easier if he had a path to follow, so Geralt went towards the voice, who was still muttering. “There’s something to be said about wandering through the woods, alone, with no means of protection. Fuck what have I gotten myself into--SWEET JESUS!” The man the voice belonged to shrieked and jumped straight into the air when he spotted Geralt as he broke through the treeline and into the path. 

“Oh fuck, shit I was--fuck I was joking about not having any means of protection, I have uh--” the man spluttered and looked around, grabbing a stick and brandishing it at Geralt like it was a reasonable weapon. “Don’t come any closer,” the man said, his eyes went to the sword handles sticking up over Geralt’s shoulders and he paled. “Who the fuck are you?” he hissed shrilly. 

Geralt ignored him, looking over the man at the sun starting to rise. He grunted and started walking away from the man up the path. 

“Hey!” the man called after him. Geralt, again, ignored him. “I asked you a question!” The man jogged to catch up with Geralt, staying a little more than arm's length away and still holding the stick. “What are you doing out in the woods carrying swords and wearing--is that _leather_ armor? With studs!? I demand an answer!” The man sounded incensed, his previous fear completely forgotten. “And perhaps the name of your tailor, this is exquisite,” he added in a quiet voice as his eyes scanned the armor. 

“Larping,” Geralt said, without stopping or looking back at the man.

The man furrowed his brow and paused. “Alone?” 

“Yes, alone, now go away,” Geralt said, picking up the pace to try and leave the man behind. It didn’t work. 

“Are your swords real? Or just wooden? You seem like the kind of hardcore fan type, they’re probably real. Why two? I’ve heard dual wielding is highly impractical, never tried it myself--” he chuckled to himself, “I know, I know, very surprising, what with the expert way I threatened you but--”

Geralt whirled around on the man. “Stop following me,” he snapped. 

The man laughed. “I’m not _following_ you anywhere. We’re going the same way! Both caught meandering life’s path and pondering the greater complexities of--hey! Don’t walk away! I was monologuing!” 

Geralt managed to last another ten minutes of the man’s incessant rambling before he slammed a fist into the man’s gut. He crumpled, gasping, and curled into a ball on the ground. 

“What was that for?!” he wheezed, glaring at Geralt. 

“ _Leave me alone_ ,” he said, walking away again. The silence was a blessing and it finally allowed Geralt to think. The cabin was about four days hike up the mountain--if you were fully human. If he kept this pace and didn’t stop to sleep he was pretty sure he could cut that down at least in half. It would mean he would be weaker for whatever he had to face at the top, which was a risk, but he wanted this contract _over_. The sooner he finished the job the sooner he could track Yennefer down. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong but the longer she stewed the more time she had to come up with curses to hit him with when they saw each other next. 

He knew as much from experience. Yennefer would get pissed about something, throw him out, and then he’d have to come find her and fumble his way through an apology he never felt sincere about until eventually they both got frustrated enough that they fucked it out and the cycle repeated itself. 

“You are _unbearably_ rude!” The man shouted, suddenly reappearing behind Geralt. “First you snippily avoid all of my questions with your brooding silence and then accost me! This jacket is _silk_ I’ll have you know and it’s never seen a speck of dirt in its life!” 

Geralt turned on the man, glaring down at him. He wasn’t much shorter but he shrank at Geralt’s full imposing glare. He was wearing clothes that looked nowhere near appropriate for a two day hike, just a brightly colored silk jacket with a half unbuttoned white dress shirt and tight, ripped jeans. He had a small backpack and some instrument in a case on his back. It didn’t look like he had water or a bed roll or a tent or food or anything. 

“These swords on my back are very real and sharp enough to behead you so fast you would feel the pain of your head hitting the ground before you died,” Geralt growled. 

The man gulped. “Right, well, that’s-- _frightening_ ,” he said, hands fidgeting. 

Geralt turned and started walking again, thinking that was the end of it. 

“Are you a poet? Material’s a bit dark but you really have a gift with words,” the man said, jogging to catch up again. “I would consider myself a poet, perhaps not the most particularly skilled one but look at us!” he bumped his fist into Geralt’s shoulder and then jumped out of range. “So much in common already, we’re both going the same way, both have a love of words, both ah…” he paused for a second thinking, “...breathe air _…_? It doesn’t matter, I’m sure we’ll find we have loads in common. Maybe we even have a name in common! What’s yours?” 

Geralt didn’t answer. 

“Hm, well, you look a bit like a Johnny to me, maybe a Rutherford? No? Too old money? You’re right, I’m thinking--” 

“Geralt,” Geralt said through gritted teeth. 

“Geralt!” the man said, brightening and waving his hands around, “ah, yes I see it now, mmm, very fitting. Square jaw and imposing, impressive physique, makes sense,” he said, and then lulled into a moment of silence that Geralt almost wept for. It didn’t last though. “My name’s Jaskier,” he said. 

Geralt frowned at him, “Buttercup?” 

Jaskier gasped, “You know Polish?!”

Geralt scowled, “No.”

“Well, see I _know_ that’s a lie. No one’s ever gotten it before! I thought I was rather clever coming up with it, you’d be shocked the amount of people that describe me as a weed--”

“I wonder why?” Geralt muttered. 

“--but I don’t mind weeds all that much, especially buttercups. Have you ever done the thing where you put it under your chin to tell how much you like butter? I know, I know it’s a hoax since there’s no logical way for a flower to know but when I was…”

**II**

The two of them walked for the entire day and then all night. Jaskier’s feet felt like stubs attached to jello legs and he was pretty sure the soles of his shoes had fallen off somewhere along the path. Jaskier wasn’t dumb--well, that was arguable--but he wasn’t an _idiot._ He knew when someone was trying to shake him, and it was blisteringly obvious Geralt was trying to out walk Jaskier. 

But now that Jaskier had company the idea of making the rest of the hike alone made him twitchy with anxiety. The whole idea of the retreat was to spend a few days alone on a hike, clear your head and force some deep thinking. But Jaskier wasn’t good at thinking, he didn’t want to. Silence made him into a twitchy, anxious mess and he couldn’t handle being in his own head for more than a few moments. 

When alone, Jaskier constantly had music playing, or was playing music, or was playing and listening to music and watching tv and--just, whatever he could to fill the silence. Geralt may have been the conversational equivalent of a board, but it was still better than nothing.

However, there was only so far Jaskier’s stubbornness could carry him and when the sun rose on the horizon after a truly exhausting night he finally caved. 

“Geralt,” he groaned dramatically. 

The man grunted a response. It was better than when they’d first started walking at least, now the man actually responded somewhat to Jaskier’s unyielding attempts at provoking him into a conversation. Jaskier had also tried prying the man with his musical talents, but the lute had gone back onto his bag the moment Geralt threatened to beat Jaskier with it. Not because he was worried about getting beaten, but because he wouldn’t put it past the other man to harm the instrument to prove a point and that was not something Jaskier was willing to risk.

“I can’t go on. Please--I don’t know how you’re doing it but just stop for an hour at least--just enough for me to rest my eyes,” Jaskier begged. They'd made impressive progress up the mountain, and were now walking along one of the steeper ridges. They weren’t even on the path anymore, Geralt had grunted something about a short cut but Jaskier was pretty sure this was just a more elaborate way to get him to quit. He had to admit--it was pretty effective. 

The ridge was steep and very tall, dropping off on Jaskier’s left side and sloping more gently on the other. The drop on the left was enough to make Jaskier’s empty stomach flip every time he accidentally glanced over at it. 

“Then stop,” Geralt said, completely void of sympathy. 

Jaskier scowled at the other man’s back. 

“You’re unbearable,” he snapped. 

“You said that.” 

“And I meant it! You make for horrible conversation, you smell like the wrong side of a pig and you have utterly inhuman stamina,” Jaskier said, panting a little. The ridge was just getting steeper. Geralt--frustratingly enough--looked completely unaffected. 

“There’s a right end of a pig?” Geralt asked, the ghost of a smile twitching his lips up as he turned a bit to glance back at Jaskier. 

“AHA!” Jaskier yelled, “Behold! The man of ice and steel cracks a smile on his frozen cheeks! Did it hurt? Just a little bit?” 

“Hm,” Geralt grunted, turning back forward and picking up his pace. 

Jaskier wailed, “Fuck! No! Come on Geralt! Just a water break, nothing else, just one little stop!” 

“There’s a stream ahead,” Geralt said and Jaskier felt like sobbing with relief. 

“ _Oh thank the gods,_ ” he whispered and then frowned, jogging to catch up with Geralt with some renewed strength at the idea of clean, crisp, refreshing water. “How do you know? Have you been here before? I thought you were pulling my leg with this shortcut thing.” 

“I can hear it,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier’s frown deepened, and he strained to try and hear something, but the birds weren’t even awake yet as the sun just barely poked its head up behind the mountain. 

“ _Unbearable_ ,” Jaskier cursed. He didn’t even have the energy to snap at Geralt when the man’s tiny smile returned. 

It turned out Geralt was not messing with Jaskier however, because not ten minutes later they came to a stream. Jaskier collapsed beside it and drank like a dying man. He was pretty sure he was one, his whole body ached and even his eyelids felt sore and stiff. The water tasted better than anything he’d had in his entire life and inhaled it, choking a bit and forcing himself to drink slower. 

Geralt crouched down with him, filling water bottles he hung off his large pack and scanning their surroundings like he was sure something was going to pop out and eat them. Jaskier didn’t think that would be such a bad thing--just as long as he stopped feeling his aching feet being mauled might almost be acceptable. 

“You are the devil,” Jaskier managed to curse him between gasping breaths once he’d finally drank his fill. 

Geralt’s smirk returned, “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you lasted this long,” he said. 

If Jaskier had the energy he would have punched the smug bastard in his stupid nose--frighteningly sharp swords be damned. As it was, he settled for glaring viciously. 

“No thanks to you, what’s the bloody rush?” he snapped. 

Geralt’s smile vanished and his scowl returned. 

“Fine, don’t answer, keep brood--” Jaskier’s stomach interrupted him, growling so loud he felt it in his numbing toes. The hunger hit him like a bag of wet concrete and he felt so dizzy he had to steady himself even though he was sitting. 

“Eat something you idiot,” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier laughed, “I would, but I ran out of trail mix around midnight.” 

“You planned on going on a four day hike with a days worth of trail mix?” Geralt said, like Jaskier was an idiot. Well--it was a little warranted. 

“Figured I’d eat the flora, wild berries and such, be one with nature. Plus I kind of left in a hurry and-- _oof_ ,” he grunted as Geralt threw something at him. It turned out to be some kind of jerky, which Jaskier devoured instantly. “Thanks,” he managed once he’d finished eating. 

Geralt was watching him with a curious expression. 

“I know there’s probably something on my face, I swear I’m usually better about hygiene--actually, why am I explaining myself to you? Your hair looks like you use 2 in 1 products every other year,” Jaskier said, feeling better with some food and water in him. 

“I don’t understand you,” Geralt blurted suddenly, and Jaskier blinked. 

“You want to?” he asked, surprised. 

Geralt shook his head and gritted his teeth, standing suddenly. “I’m leaving,” he snapped and Jaskier felt panic threaten to crush his chest. He scrambled to stand up on weak legs and half-walked half-crawled after the other man. 

“Wait--Geralt! Wait!” He grabbed the man’s backpack and Geralt spun around on him, eyes blazing and teeth bared as he backed Jaskier up towards the ridge’s edge. Here at least it was more of a very, very steep hill than sheer cliff, but that still wasn’t exactly comforting.

“ _Leave. Me. Alone,_ ” he snarled. 

Jaskier swallowed, opening his mouth to speak when he heard the soul crushing sound of his lute--thankfully still in it’s case--hitting the ground. He turned, not caring about the very large, very scary man at his back and spotted the lute balancing precariously on the edge of the ridge. He crouched to pick it up, but his legs gave out and his fingers slipped and the lute dropped off the edge. 

“NO!” He screamed, and without thinking, dived off the edge of the ridge after the instrument. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt yelled as Jaskier fell. He caught the lute and curled around it right as his back hit the ground and he tumbled all the way down the steep slope. The ground tore at his clothes and face and every bump threatened to crack the protective ball of his body around the lute. Eventually though, his already weak body couldn’t take it anymore and he went limp, rolling to a stop finally and looking up at the morning sky with stars and little splotchy-silver bits dancing around his vision. He struggled to breath for a good minute, and then finally realized Geralt was still calling out for him. Panic was the only thing that gave him the strength to sit up and look at the lute, which, miraculously, was fine.

He burst into hysterical laughter and collapsed back on the ground, “Lute’s ok!” he called up to Geralt.

“I don’t care about the fucking lute! I mean, I don’t care-- Fuck!” Geralt yelled at the top of the cliff. Jaskier could see him, he looked miles away. “I’m not going to-- _fuck_ \--” Geralt dragged a hand down his face and sighed heavily, “don’t move, I’m coming down,” he called. Jaskier held his thumb up and went limp on the ground, closing his eyes to take advantage of the no-moving policy Geralt was suddenly a fan of. His body was aching worse now and he let out a low whine without really meaning to. At this point he could care less who heard his pitiful noises though, he was exhausted, and in pain, and all he wanted to do was sleep and never wake up.

But then he heard a noise. 

Jaskier picked his head up with some difficulty and looked around him. He’d fallen into a little wooded area, with some scrubby bushes and trees on the other side of a tiny clearing at the bottom of the cliff he’d fallen down.

There was nothing but the swaying trees in the wind and the sound of rocks tumbling down the cliff as Geralt picked his way down towards Jaskier. 

Figuring it was just the trees, Jaskier closed his eyes. 

And then he heard it again. It sounded like clicking, very quiet clicking. 

This time he pushed himself up so he was sitting and looked around under himself, wondering if he’d fallen on some kind of bug, but the ground was just covered in the usual dirt and rocks. He heard the noise again and looked to his left, where he froze, breath caught in his chest. 

“Geralt?” he called, eyes not moving from the beast that was staring him down not four feet away. 

“I’m coming,” Geralt snapped. 

“How--um, how big do scorpions usually get?” he called. Geralt didn’t answer and Jaskier didn’t dare look away from the roughly dog sized scorpion staring him down and raising its tail up looking terrifyingly threatening. “Just, ah, just asking for a friend, a very _large_ friend who is-- _charging! GERALT!_ ” Jaskier shrieked as the scorpion charged at him, tail poised to stab and big enough to tear a hole through Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier scrambled back on his elbows, desperately trying to drag himself away from the thing until suddenly a pair of hands grabbed his backpack and yanked him to his feet. 

“Fuck,” Geralt said shoving Jaskier behind him and pulling out one of his swords as the scorpion started circling. 

“Geralt what the fuck is that thing?” Jaskier hissed, his legs were barely keeping him up but he looked around and grabbed a stick. 

“Uh… big ass scorpion,” Geralt said, and Jaskier glared at the back of his head. “Run,” Geralt growled, jumping forward and slashing his massive sword at the creature. It hissed at him and jumped back away from the swing and jabbed at Geralt with a lightning fast tail the man somehow managed to dodge. 

As much as the heroic part of Jaskier wanted to leap in and assist, Geralt seemed to be handling things just fine on his own, so he turned to run but just ended up stumbling on his jello legs and collapsing to the ground. 

“Run Jaskier!” Geralt growled again, and Jaskier pushed himself up to make a smart remark until he came face to face with another big ass scorpion. 

“GERALT!” He yelled bringing the stick up and rolling away right as the stinger came jabbing towards him. The stick slammed into the monster’s plated skin and the impact jolted down the stick into Jaskier’s arm and left his hand tingling. 

The scorpion raised it’s tail again and Jaskier realized he was pinned between it and the cliff wall with nowhere to run. He jabbed at it with his stick which just seemed to piss the thing off as it screamed at him. Jaskier flinched as it went to stab him again, but the stinger never came, instead there was just a dull thud and when Jaskier opened his eyes again Geralt was standing over the now two-halved creature. Neon green ooze leaked from the halves and Jaskier leaned over and threw up all the beef jerky in his stomach. 

“I told you to _run_ ,” Geralt said, glaring. Jaskier just shrieked and pointed to another scorpion-thing launching itself out of the trees at Geralt’s exposed back. Geralt spun around and skewered the thing on his sword, it screamed so loud Jaskier’s head pounded. 

“I’d be running if I could!” Jaskier yelled as another three scorpion-things emerged from the woods. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Geralt yelled as he watched the three stalk towards where he was standing in front of Jaskier. 

“I _mean_ , you refused to stop and now I don’t think I could stand if one of the gods offered to blow me,” Jaskier said, trying and failing to stand up. His legs were more like water now than jello and he crumpled to the ground with a panicked whine as another four scorpion-monsters appeared on the other side of Geralt. “Geralt--Geralt there’s more--”

“I see them,” he said, teeth gritted. 

“You’ve got a plan right? Please tell me you’ve got a plan,” Jaskier said grabbing a rock and holding it up so he could throw it. 

“Working on it,” Geralt said. 

“Maybe work a little quicker?” Jaskier said as the monsters closed in on them. 

Geralt grunted, and then slashed his sword at one of the creatures when it jumped at him. 

“Plan??” Jaskier yelled shrilly, throwing his rock at another monster. 

“Don’t get stung,” Geralt said, turning around and throwing Jaskier over his shoulder without warning. 

Jaskier yelped and then struggled to get free as he realized his lute was still on the ground. “LUTE!” He yelled and Geralt growled but grabbed it and then cut down one of the scorpions to create an opening in their little circle that he bolted through. 

The other scorpions screamed and immediately scuttled after them. 

“FUCK OFF YOU UGLY SLUTS!” Jaskier yelled, thwacking them with his stick as soon as they came within range. Geralt’s shoulder turned out to be a very uncomfortable ride though, and his chest was already getting an impressive feeling bruise in the middle of it. Every step Geralt took bounced Jaskier, slamming him back into the man’s shoulder. “Fuck--shit--fuck--ow--ow--fuck--” Jaskier cursed with every bump. 

“Shut up,” Geralt grunted, jumping over a log and landing heavily enough that it knocked the breath out of Jaskier and he dropped his stick, feeling a bit like an abused squeaky toy. 

“You’re carrying--ow--precious-- _ow_ \--cargo-- _OW!_ ” Jaskier yelled, thumping Geralt on the back when the asshole squeezed his leg in warning. “Oh wait! They’re slowing down! We got away!” Jaskier cheered, watching as the scorpion-monsters slowed and they gained some distance. The monsters screamed at them and then started to climb into the trees and Jaskier’s eyes widened. “I’m never going to be able to sleep again,” he whispered. 

“Fuck,” Geralt said, slowing a bit and looking around. 

“Fuck?? Fuck what?? They stopped!” Jaskier said, twisting around to try and see whatever Geralt was looking at. He heard it before he saw it though as it screamed so loud it felt like it was right in Jaskier’s ear. “What the fuck was that!!!?” Jaskier shrieked, and Geralt didn’t answer, but he did turn around to look for something and Jaskier got a full, unblocked view of an absolutely _massive_ scorpion monster. He screamed as the thing charged at them with a terrifying kind of grace that made it look like it was floating menacingly across the forest floor towards them. 

In the very back of his mind lyrics flashed to Jaskier, something poetic about six legged beasts dancing, and then Geralt was running again, which meant Jaskier had to watch the gigantic scorpion-beast tear through the forest after them. Without warning Geralt pulled Jaskier off his shoulder and into his arms, where he then _tossed_ Jaskier into the entrance of a cave. 

Jaskier hit the ground hard but he didn’t need any explanation, without hesitating he crawled further into the cave as Geralt struggled to move a boulder so it blocked the entrance. There was a thud that shook the cave walls as the scorpion hit the boulder, but the whole thing stayed up and Jaskier immediately started hyperventilating. 

“What the fuck what the _fuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck--_ ” he hissed grabbing his lute and curling around it while laying on his side. “Oh fuck, this is a horrible nightmare. No, no, I can feel pain, christ what did I take? I haven’t had LSD since high school! Oh gods what is happening what the _fuck_ is happening,” Jaskier muttered to himself and rocking slightly to try and calm himself down. 

“ _Igni_ ,” Geralt grunted, and suddenly a tiny warm flame on the end of a stick illuminated the cave. It was bigger than Jaskier had first thought, with uneven stone-and-dirt walls and about as much space as a small bedroom. The ground was covered in moss that was only a little damp and actually pleasantly soft, and as long as you ignored the scorpions screaming outside it was almost comfortable. 

Geralt himself looked completely unfazed as he sat down on his knees and pulled a dirty looking cloth from his pack and started cleaning the blade of his sword, which gleamed wickedly in the dark. 

“You’re acting like this is completely normal, this is not completely normal Geralt there are _giant_ , man _eating_ , scorpions! In the woods! They climb trees! Oh gods they climb _trees_ ,” Jaskier moaned. 

“They’re not scorpions,” Geralt said simply. 

Jaskier perked up a bit, “What are they then?” 

Geralt paused his blade cleaning to give Jaskier an indecipherable look. Right about the point that Jaskier was about to check to see if he’d grown a second head, Geralt went back to his blade. “Endrega,” he said. 

“Endrega? Wait was that just the little ones or the big one? Were the little ones babies?” Jaskier asked, the words spilling out since they made for a nice distraction from the--thankfully mostly muffled-- _endrega_ screaming. 

“The little ones were workers, the bigger one was a warrior,” Geralt said. His explanations were infuriatingly stilted and Jaskier gave him a flat look. 

“Are you going to keep giving me dictionary definitions or some actual information?” Jaskier said. 

Geralt gave him another odd look, and then he put his sword away and tucked the cleaning cloth back in his pack, tossing some random sticks that were scattered on the cave’s floor onto their tiny fire. 

“Endrega live in colonies, like bees. Their workers are the most common, but when they die they give off a pheromone that alerts the colony and then they send out their warriors, who’s only thought is killing anything covered in the ‘death scent’,” Geralt explained. He glanced up from the fire at Jaskier like he was expecting him to yawn or something. 

“Like bees? Is there a queen? Did we run into the colony? What does the nest look like?” Jaskier asked, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Geralt seemed a bit taken aback. “Its… they don't really have a nest. Just a territory, there is a queen and she makes little cocoons that hang from trees where the eggs go.” 

“So, bee-wolf-scorpions basically,” Jaskier said. “Have you ever seen one?” 

Geralt thought for a moment. “Once,” he said, Jaskier waited expectantly and Geralt sighed, “the colony was getting too large, I was hired to exterminate it.” 

“Hired? I thought you were a larper,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Get some sleep, we can’t leave until you can run again.” 

“Ugh, I don’t think I’ll _ever_ be able to _move_ again. My whole body _aches_ ,” Jaskier said dramatically. Then he cocked his head and grinned, “wait, you said _we_ , am I growing on you Geralt?” 

Geralt scowled, “like mold.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t dim, but he turned on his side, back to Geralt and shifted until he was comfortable. “However nasty, I’m still growing, like a weed,” he said, chucking at his own joke and then yawning. 

It took about four seconds for Jaskier to fall asleep. 

**III**

No matter how hard Geralt tried, he was unable to solve the puzzle that was Jaskier. The man moaned about ruined silk and he carried himself like he’d never known hunger or worry in his life. And yet, he was able to keep up with Geralt for an entire day and night, and he didn’t complain about his hunger or thirst until it really became unbearable. 

Then there was the business with the lute. It was obvious it was important to him--even before he’d thrown himself off a cliff to save it. While walking he’d taken the time to polish the wood with a cloth and check the instrument’s tune. He carried it like it was a newborn child, and the case it traveled in was worn and old. 

Combined with the surprising ease with which he’d accepted endrega, calling the man an enigma would be an understatement. 

As soon as he’d fallen asleep Geralt had examined him--from afar, worried about waking him enough to start prattling on again. There weren’t any signs that he was some kind of non-human. He seemed like a perfectly normal, maybe a bit skinny, overall average human. 

Eventually Geralt gave up trying to silently figure out the other man and focused on meditating. The endrega eventually gave up trying to break into their cave, but Geralt knew it wouldn’t leave permanently until it was sure they weren’t threats anymore. Part of him wondered if he should just carry Jaskier, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught with his hands full. It would just be better to wait until Jaskier could run with him. 

The other man slept like a rock for a day and a half, and he woke up groaning. 

“ _Sweet mercy,_ ” he moaned, rolling stiffly so he was laying on his back. “I think every muscle in my body has turned to stone, is this what your face feels like Geralt? No wonder you don’t smile.”

Geralt sighed, ignoring the prattling and grabbed one of the water bottles off his pack and helped Jaskier sit up so he could drink some. He winced and hissed but managed to guzzle half the bottle. 

“This isn’t drugged is it?” Jaskier asked _after_ he’d finished drinking, eying Geralt suspiciously. 

“What makes you think that?” Geralt asked. 

“I’m pretty sure your jerky was laced with something because I _swear_ we were chased by giant scorpions yesterday.” He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, wincing a bit at the pull of his sore muscles. 

Geralt smirked, “No drugs, that happened.” 

Jaskier laughed, and then--very dramatically--one of the endrega roared from in the woods and Jaskier yelped, grabbing his lute and holding it protectively to his chest as his eyes darted around. 

“ _Holy fucking shit_ ,” Jaskier whispered, then he narrowed his eyes on Geralt. “You’re not a larper,” he said accusingly. 

“No,” Geralt agreed. Technically, Geralt was sworn by oath not to let the secrets of the Witcher world out to any humans. However, Jaskier had already seen the endrega, and Geralt figured he would just have Yennefer erase his memories or something. Though, he wasn’t sure that was something she could do--or would do, depending on how mad she was when he finished this contract. 

“What are you Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, then his eyes widened, fearfully, “Nod if you’re a vampire so I can throw myself to the endrega,” he said. 

Geralt’s brow furrowed, “What?”

“I _will not_ be Bella Swan, Geralt, I will not.”

“I don’t know what that is, and I’m not a vampire.”

“Thank the gods,” Jaskier said, and he leaned forward again, wincing a bit at the movement but recovering quickly to squint at Geralt, “Then what are you? Some kind of… _pest control?_ ”

“Of a sort.” 

“How did I not know about these things? How does no one know about these things and--wait I was joking about the vampire thing-- _are there vampires?_ ” 

“There are… sort of,” Geralt said, and when Jaskier kept watching him expectantly he sighed and went on. “‘Vampire’ is just a term to describe creatures that feed on blood, there’s countless subspecies. It’s like asking if dogs exist.” 

“Are they all hot?” 

Geralt frowned, “Humanoid ones can be supernaturally attractive to help their hunting, but other than that they look kind of like bats.” He furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, “Well, ekimma look kind of like venus fly traps, but with a beard and claws.” 

“That’s horrific, what are the hot ones called?” Jaskier said, looking awestruck. Geralt was surprised, the only people that allowed him to ramble this much about creatures was Vesemir, and the older man usually turned whatever the subject was into a lecture. 

“Probably bruxae, but the media takes traits from the nosferat more than anything--with the whole burning-in-sunlight and turns-into-a-bat thing.” 

“Hm,” Jaskier said, tapping his chin, “Nothing good rhymes with either of those I’ll stick with vampire, however nonspecific,” He mused to himself. Geralt frowned, and Jaskier waved a hand at him, opening his lute case, “It won’t matter much, vampire sounds fine--so you’re saying they all drink blood but they don’t all burn up in the sunlight?” He asked, plucking a few chords out on the lute and humming under his breath. 

“You can’t make a song about this,” Geralt said.

Jaskier furrowed his brow, “Why not?” 

“People can’t know about this stuff.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, they’ll think it's an overly specific metaphor,” Jaskier said dismissively, then he cocked his head again, smiling coyly, “Wait… if it’s supposed to be a secret, why did you tell me?” he asked. Geralt scowled at him and Jaskier laughed, “Aha! I knew it I’m growing on you after all.” 

“I will hand you to the endrega as a distraction,” Geralt snapped, but Jaskier didn’t even look up from where he was messing with his tune. 

“Of course, of course, keep your prickly walls up, I’m past them now,” Jaskier said. “Is drinking blood a necessity or just a craving?” Geralt crossed his arms over his chest. “Craving it is then, more poetic anyways. Hmm, _lovely ruiner, cause-r of pains, suck the blood from my veins, like work does life from those lovely dames--_ mm no I don’t like that, _master of pains--ruler of pains--_ ugh.”

Geralt watched him fumble through the beginnings of a song, he seemed completely sucked into it, barely looking at Geralt--even when he asked for advice he didn’t seem to actually expect an answer. When they’d first started walking together Geralt had threatened to break the lute over the man’s head, and he’d thought Jaskier was being over dramatic in tucking his lute away and expanding the distance between them, but after the cliff incident… 

“Why are you going to the cabin?” Geralt blurted suddenly, so suddenly that it startled Jaskier out of his trance-like state and he blinked up at Geralt with vividly blue eyes. 

“What?” he said, clearing his throat as if to shake off the lyrics stirring around his mind. 

“Why are you going to this cabin? You don’t have supplies or anyone accompanying you,” Geralt repeated. 

“Well ah…” Jaskier took a moment to awkwardly form his thought. “Mental health retreat… seems a little self explanatory,” he said. “And besides, you’re alone! It’s not that weird,” he added, sounding defensive. 

“I’m able to protect myself, and survive.” 

“So am I! Didn’t you see me fending off those endregas?” 

“ _Endrega_ ,” Geralt corrected, “and you were poking them with a stick.” 

“I hit one with a stick and another with a rock!” 

“No I meant--” Geralt sighed, “Endrega _is_ plural, but that’s not the point--why did you come out here like you didn’t plan on coming back?” He snapped. 

Jaskier froze, his eyes going wide and his hands tightening around his lute. After a moment he dropped his eyes and shrank into himself a bit, tracing the wood of the instrument with his finger. “I just… figured I’d make it or I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. 

Something in Geralt’s stomach rolled at that. The man’s sudden quietness, his odd stillness, and the way he looked like he wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. It made a large part of Geralt want to tear the world in half and find out whatever made Jaskier feel that way--and set it on fire. 

“I… left home rather early, one could say, and it hasn’t been easy since,” Jaskier said, eyes still on his lute. “Most nights this lute here was the only thing that kept my stomach full, but--well… it gets tiring after a while, scraping by.” 

Jaskier sighed heavily, and then forced a wide smile on his face, shifting so he was sitting up more, “But--whatever, wouldn’t want to bore you with the dreary details, ha, life isn’t a peach for much of anyone really, who am I to complain--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, Jaskier ignored him. 

“--Got a proper rhyme for ‘blood-thirsty’? I was thinking--” 

“Jaskier.” 

“--You’re right blood-thirsty’s too clique maybe--” 

“Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, and Jaskier threw his hands up. 

“What!?” he yelled back, “Alright whatever, you caught me, I thought I’d just wander into the woods and waste away, just like the weed I am, force myself to grow somewhere I’m not supposed to and then die when people give up trying to get rid of me! You know what my father did when I ran? Disowned me. The bastard disowned his sixteen year old son without a moments hesitation, he was probably glad to be rid of me and that’s how everyone is-- _everything,_ how sad is it that only a fucking lute can stand my presence without leaving. I figured I’d just wonder away on this wild goose chase and disappear.” The man rambled bitterly.

“Your father is an idiot, and so are you,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier gave a strangled sounding laugh and slumped back on the floor, eyes on the cave ceiling, “Thanks, just what I needed--I pour my soul out and you call me an idiot, I’m so glad we did this, very cathartic--” 

“Let me finish,” Geralt said, cutting him off. “You’re an idiot if you think your life means nothing.” Geralt took a breath, forcing his hands to uncurl from the fists they’d unconsciously become. “In order to become what I am--a Witcher--you have to go through intense training and mutations. They destroy you, and then rebuild you in whatever form suits them best.” There was no bitterness in his voice, Geralt had long since given up hating the people who shaped him. “The first thing we are taught is to tame our emotions, keep them locked away until you forget them. It’s supposed to make fighting and living easier, without emotions you can’t form emotional connections and therefore have nothing to tie you to the world. But--they also teach us not to stay in towns, or cities, or anywhere highly populated. Better to live off the land than risk regular interaction,” Geralt explained. Jaskier was still watching the cave’s ceiling. “Because, humans are stupid, and they attatch themselves to people without thinking. Even the most specialized tests and mutations couldn’t destroy that, it’s basic human nature. Jaskier, you can’t live a life without meaning something to someone, it's not possible.” 

Jaskier sniffled, “That was… shockingly kind of you Geralt.” 

Geralt grunted, suddenly feeling twitchy, “Whatever,” he said sharply, “I’m just pointing out the obvious.” 

Jaskier laughed, still sounding a bit watery, but more like himself. “You’re unbearable,” he joked. 

Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his face. “You said that.” 

**IV**

It took another day of rest for Jaskier to feel stable enough to run, and then Geralt insisted they wait until the daytime to make their break. After the rather intense conversation in the cave Jaskier was feeling surprisingly light, especially when they were able to escape the endrega completely unscathed. 

Geralt hissed at Jaskier to stay quiet until he was certain they’d left the colony’s territory, but after that he didn’t seem to mind Jaskier’s chattering, which just made Jaskier feel more bubbly. The cabin wasn’t far off now, and they’d returned to the main path for the last leg of the journey. Jaskier couldn’t wait to sleep on a real bed, just a day away now that Geralt had slowed his brutal pace to something a bit more Jaskier-friendly. 

“At your fancy witcher school did you have required reading?” Jaskier asked after a while. Geralt didn’t seem very open about talking about his younger days, but topics like these were safe enough and they gave Jaskier enough information for his curiosity to be mostly sated. 

“Of course,” he said, and then rattled off a list of books and authors Jaskier had never heard of. 

“I meant like, the classics, Jane Eyre--fuck Rochester--, Lord of the Flies--that one’s aweful--, ah…” he wracked his brain for more titles, “Oh! The Grapes of Wrath, that one’s like salt, _everyone_ knows about it--or at least the title.” 

“Hm,” Geralt said, and Jaskier cocked his head. 

“That’s your confused hm,” Jaskier said, “None of them ringing bells?”

“Grapes don’t have wrath,” he said. 

Jaskier laughed, “Does that make witcher’s grapes?” he asked, Geralt rolled his eyes and Jaskier laughed again. “It’s a metaphor,” he explained, “Like ‘the fruits of our labor,’ but grapes and wrath. The book was odd… but also oddly hopeful? It ended on a weird note though that kind of… well… it was well meaning.” 

“Hm,” Geralt said. 

“What else did you learn about it witcher school?” Jaskier asked. 

“Alchemy, the basics of medicine, monsters,” Geralt said vaguely. 

“How about a favorite subject? Mine was undoubtedly a creative writing class--Mr. Krakowski, a wonderful man,” Jaskier said, watching Geralt as he obviously turned the question over in his mind, considering his answer. 

“The barns,” he said after a long moment. 

“There were barns?” 

“For horses, and sometimes more docile creatures for studying,” Geralt said, eyes unfocused on the horizon, like he was lost in thought. “We were supposed to care-- _maintain_ , a horse. Doesn’t matter now though, horses stand out too much anymore.” 

“What was yours’ name?” 

Geralt blinked and stopped in his tracks, “What?” 

“What did you name your horse?” Jaskier asked, stopping with him. 

“Roach.” For a moment Geralt almost looked happy, reliving the memory of his horse. He looked up at Jaskier, who beamed at him, glad to see genuine happiness on the man's face for once, and it was like someone snapped him with a rubber band. His expression turned sour again and he started walking, his pace faster and Jaskier had to jog to catch up with him. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, face pinched with concern. 

“There’s a stream up ahead, we’ll camp there,” Geralt said tersely. Jaskier opened his mouth to question Geralt, but the other man waved a hand. “Quiet, I need to make sure there’s nothing waiting for us,” he said, a little too sharply. Jaskier closed his mouth, frowning, but stayed quiet, only shooting Geralt concern looks from the corner of his eyes as they walked. 

They made it to the stream just as the sun was starting to set. It seemed to set the trees on fire with vibrant oranges and long shadows cast by the forest around them. The stream they stopped at was big enough that Jaskier was able to strip to his boxers and wade around in. It was freezing cold but it felt like heaven on his aching, dirty body. 

“ _Oh thank the gods,_ ” he groaned, splashing the cold water over himself and scrubbing at his dirty hair until the water ran clear and relief filled his chest. “Come on in Geralt, the water’s fine,” he called with a grin. 

The other man was stacking wood to start a fire, and he gave Jaskier a flat look. “I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” he grunted. 

Jaskier laughed, leaning back so he was floating on his back, “Well I can smell _you_ from all the way over here, and I don’t have magic witcher-y senses.” 

“Hm.” Geralt said. 

Jaskier rolled so he was crouching in the water with only his head poking out. “Come on Geralt, would it kill you to have a little fun?” He taunted. 

Geralt busied himself with laying out his bedroll. “It might if more endrega decide to visit,” Geralt said. 

“They wouldn’t--” Jasker said, then looked around, “Right?” 

“Depends on how hungry they are,” Geralt said. 

“Stop teasing me,” Jaskier said, still uncertain. 

Geralt shrugged, turning his back so Jaskier couldn’t see his smile. “They do like wetter areas, did I mention they can swim?” 

“Oh that’s it,” Jaskier said, jumping out of the water and hurrying towards the fire. The cold was much more obvious now that he was out of the water and exposed to the wind. He hugged himself, shivering and looking around for something to dry off with. He spotted Geralt’s bedroll and smirked, snatching it up and wrapping it around his shoulders as he crouched down by the fire. 

Geralt gave him a deadly glare, “I’ve killed people for less.” He said. 

Jaskier feigned innocence, “But then what bait will you throw to the endrega?” 

Geralt grunted, tossing more wood on their fire instead of properly answering. Jaskier grinned smugly and burrowed deeper in the roll. Geralt ruffled through his pack until he produced a can of beans and a pan. In the cave they’d stuck to cold beans and jerky, not wanting to smoke themselves out in their tiny cave with a large fire, so the smell of cooked beans made Jaskier’s mouth water. 

Jaskier took his portion--dumped into a little tin cup--eagerly, inhaling the food even as it burned his mouth. Jaskier scraped the bottom of the cup with his finger, the beans gone too soon. He set the empty vessel aside, gnawing on jerky and feeling warm and content. He looked up over the fire to Geralt, who was staring into the fire distantly. 

Jaskier picked himself up--bedroll and all--and plopped down next to the other man, who’s only reaction was an eyeroll. Jaskier leaned up against Geralt and yawned. 

“He can cook he can fight, what lucky lady has the honor of being your dearest Geralt?” he asked, eyes on the fire as it warmed his face pleasantly. 

“No one,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier frowned, craning his neck to look at Geralt, “Impossible! Geralt you’re built like a marble carving of a god and while there is the smell, that’s fixable. You could have anyone in the world, there’s no way you have no one.” Jaskier said, still in a good mood from the day and feeling content and warm. It was shocking how drunk you could feel off a full stomach and a warm meal. 

“What about you?” Geralt said. 

“What about me?” 

“You’re not bad yourself, why don’t you have a _‘dearest’_?” 

Jaskier, despite the jabbing comment, felt his face flush. His stomach did an odd flip as he realized he was barely wearing anything, leaning against Geralt, all alone in the woods as they sang each other’s praises. He suddenly felt too close to the fire. “Well I--I’ve never been good at settling,” he said. It wasn’t exactly the truth. Jaskier was _too good_ at settling, every person who allowed him even a sliver of kindness he settled into. Sometimes he felt like an overcooked marshmallow, sticking himself to people and then tearing himself away, leaving behind a perfect, charred shell. He wished he knew how to be moderate, but Jaskier’s emotions were a faucet that had been welded to full blast. 

Sometimes, if he thought about it too much, he would wonder when his faucet would dry up and leave him an empty shell. 

“Witchers don’t do connections,” Geralt said, stirring Jaskier out of his thoughts.

“Like grapes,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt scoffed. 

“I think that book was about the consequences of stifling people to the point of wrath,” Jaskier said softly. Geralt hummed, just as quiet, and suddenly Jaskier felt a little wave of bravery, “When do witchers retire?” 

“When they slow and die,” Geralt said bluntly. 

Jaskier’s stomach flipped again, “Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll change your mind, everyone has a match _somewhere_ , and you travel more than anyone.” 

“Maybe,” Geralt said, watching the fire. 

Jaskier turned so he could look at Geralt fully, “I’m being serious Geralt, everyone deserves someone.” Geralt turned to look at him, another indecipherable expression on his face that made Jaskier feel a little unnerved, so of course he kept rambling, “I mean, every sea needs a moon, ever desert a sun. Someone who ah… understands you and… well, just… someone,” Jaskier said, his voice getting smaller as Geralt’s eye contact became more and more intense. 

“What are you saying Jaskier?” He asked. 

Jaskier bit his lip, “Just wondering how close you think that person is.” 

Jaskier didn’t know how but they’d gotten so close he could see the flecks of black in Geralt’s golden eyes. They stared at each other in silence for an indescribably long moment and then Geralt’s eyes dropped down to Jaskier’s lips and--

He stood up. 

“We need firewood,” he said abruptly, storming off into the woods. Jaskier blinked as the moment popped like an atom bomb.

“Wait--Geralt!” Jaskier called out, standing to follow him before remembering he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He dropped the bed roll and jumped into his pants, throwing on his shirt and hopping after Geralt as he pulled his boots back on. At the last second he turned back to grab his lute--not wanting to leave it unattended--and then bolted after Geralt. 

**V**

“Geralt!” Jaskier called as Geralt tore into the woods. Geralt could hear him trying to follow and it just made Geralt walk faster. His mind was racing and his whole body was screaming at him to _move._

Everything had been fine, they were a day out from the cabin and Geralt would be able to deal with whatever was happening with it and then he could leave and figure things out with Yennefer. But then Jaskier was looking at him like _that_ and rambling on about _somebodies_ and suddenly Geralt was realizing he’d never pictured an end, an after. And then when he did he was realizing that Yennefer didn’t fit in that picture--at least anyway that made him happy--and then Jaskier was leaning so close and the fire was warm and--

Geralt felt like tearing out his hair. This whole thing was stupid, the trip, Jaskier, Geralt, the fucking cabin, all of it. There probably wasn’t even anything at the cabin, the contract had probably been more about the journey _to_ the cabin and it wouldn’t even matter when he found the stupid empty house. 

“Geralt! You stupid asshole you don’t get to just bolt!” Jaskier yelled after him and Geralt turned to the left, picking up the pace until he was almost running.

And running from what? Jaskier? 

He growled at himself and burst into a clearing. There was a little hill with some bushes at the top being blown by a light breeze and it was dark. Jaskier probably couldn’t see anything, with all the curses and branch snapping Geralt was hearing that was definitely the case. 

“Don’t you dare fucking move, we are going to discuss this like-- _fuck, how are you moving so fast_ \--like reasonable fucking adults you unbearable fucking grape!” Jaskier yelled, finally falling into the clearing where Geralt was standing, waiting. Jaskier spotted him and jabbed a finger into his chest like Geralt wasn’t someone with swords on his back whose job was killing. “What the fuck was that!?” he demanded. 

Geralt opened his mouth to say something, what? He had no idea, but before he could the wind changed and he caught the unmistakable stench of feathers and blood. _Lots_ of blood. 

“You could just turn me down like a normal fucking person but _no_ , I mean what even--”

“Jaskier shut up,” Geralt hissed eyes darting around the clearing for the source of the smell. 

Jaskier was not pleased, “No you shut up! I’m trying to--” Geralt cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth and pinning him to his own chest so he couldn’t break free. Jaskier made an indignant noise and bit Geralt’s finger, which made Geralt curse and surprised him enough that Jaskier was able to wiggle free and jump a few steps away. “How dare you! No! Don’t come near me you fucking--” 

The griffin’s shriek pierced the air and cut off whatever Jaskier was going to say. Both he and Geralt turned to see the creature stretching its wings from where it had been curled up on its nest atop the hill. It was so large it blotted out the moon as it raised its beak to the sky and screamed before beating its powerful wings and shot into the sky. 

“Geralt what the fuck is that?” Jaskier hissed as Geralt pulled his silver sword out and watched the griffin circle above them. 

“Royal griffin,” Geralt said. 

“Should I be running?” 

“Whatever you do, don’t run, _hide_ \--in the trees, it won’t follow you there,” Geralt said, and Jaskier barely needed a second to process the words as he started backing up slowly into the treeline right as the griffin shrieked again and dived. 

Geralt rolled out of the way of the creatures sheep sized claws but felt them tear up the air at his back. His blood was roaring in his ears as the griffin roared and swiped at him with the massive talons at the juncture of its wings. Its razor-sharp beak gleamed in the moonlight, black feathers puffed around the back of it’s head like a lion’s mane and it’s back legs were curled like a cat’s before it pounces. 

Geralt made a quick sign for Aard, it wasn’t enough to knock the beast off its feet but it tossed it’s head and roared against the stunning effect, giving Geralt ample time to hack at one of its wings and keep it grounded. 

It recovered quickly though, swinging its wings faster than Geralt could dodge and hitting him solidly in the chest. He flew backwards, farther into the clearing and rolled--barely keeping his grip on his sword as he jumped to his feet in time to cast Aard again and leap out of the way of the beast’s talons as it pounced on him. 

This time the sign managed to knock the griffin on it’s side, and Geralt again attacked it’s wing, this time slicing through the meat of it and tearing flesh. The griffin screamed again, rippling their air with only its voice. It lashed out at Geralt with its back legs, scrambling to kick him off its wing and Geralt barely rolled out of the way and into a crouch as the beast tried and failed to take off into the sky. It screeched in frustration, leaping into the air and beating its wings desperately, only to crash to the ground in a blur of fury and limbs. 

Geralt cast Aard a final time, stunning the beast just enough to give him an opening that he leapt into, driving his sword directly into the creature’s exposed underbelly and yanking the blade to disembowel. The griffin screamed a final, piercing cry, wings beating uselessly, and then finally, went still. 

Geralt was panting, blood pumping and heart pounding as he yanked the blade from the griffin’s stomach. It was still alive, he could hear it’s heartbeat faintly, but all he could think about was finding Jaskier. Luckily the man was running towards him, and Geralt focused on his frantic sounding pulse. 

“Holy fuck! That was crazy!” he said, as Geralt made his way towards him and away from the dying griffin. “Is it dead?” 

“Dying,” Geralt corrected, his breathing evening out and his vitals slowing back down as the fight ended. He was glad he hadn’t taken a potion, or else the short fight would have him buzzing with unused energy that made his skin crawl. 

“That was amazing! And so dramatic, all under the moonlight with your silver sword gleaming and--GERALT!” Jaskier cut himself off as the griffin, suddenly finding a new burst of strength, raised itself up and pounced on Geralt, who didn’t have time to raise his sword or cast a sign. 

He braced for the tearing impact of the talons on his body, readied himself to use his last bit of strength to take out the griffin for good so that Jaskier could get away safely--but he didn’t close his eyes and the hit didn’t come. 

Instead there was a hollow _thud_ and Geralt’s heart dropping into his shoes as he watched Jaskier’s precious lute slam in the griffin’s face, stunning it enough that Geralt was able to roll out of the way, only one of it’s talon’s catching Geralt in the shoulder and slicing through armor and into flesh. The griffin screamed, slamming it’s a clawed wing down on the cased instrument and Geralt heard the sound of wood and strings snapping with a jarring _twang._

But then the griffin was turning on Jaskier, lowering itself for a pounce and Geralt saw red. 

He cast Igni without thinking, singing the feathers and making the griffin screech in pain and roll on it’s back to put out the tiny flames. Geralt didn’t hesitate, he dived in, slashing and hacking and slicing through bone and flesh and feathers as the griffin’s dying screams filled the air until Geralt was covering in blood and could no longer hear the griffin’s heartbeat. 

Geralt whirled around on Jaskier, who was crouched over the destroyed splinters of his lute, clutching the sad remains of what had been the fingerboard and looking just as shattered as the instrument.

The rage consuming Geralt didn’t fade, and he closed the distance between them in two steps and hauled Jaskier up by the collar of his sloppily buttoned shirt. Jaskier’s eyes were wide with fear and his face was milk white under the moon. 

“Why the fuck would you do that?!” Geralt roared and Jaskier flinched, which was enough of a reality check for Geralt to drop Jaskier, stunned at himself. 

The other man barely hit the ground before he was bolting off into the forest without a word. Geralt started after him, and then pain hit him like a bolt of lightning through his left shoulder. It was so intense he dropped his sword as the wound _ached_. He glanced at it, and saw blood pouring over his shredded armor. He couldn’t see the actual wound thanks to all the blood, but from feeling alone he knew it wasn’t good. 

Geralt pressed his hand to the wound to staunch the bleeding and picked up his sword before stumbling into the woods after Jaskier. 

He wasn’t hard to track, the man left deep footprints from running and broken branches and sticks that Geralt was sure he would have been able to follow even if he didn’t have enhanced senses. Jaskier had a head start though, and he wasn’t injured, which meant Geralt just had to hope he came to his senses and stopped running at some point soon. 

Geralt’s senses felt like a live wire, his thoughts were switching between the pinhole focus of following Jaskier’s harried trail and imagining all the horrible things that could happen to him if a monster caught up with him before Geralt. It was doubtful, at least, that there was another griffin prowling around--griffins were majorly territorial and unless they were mates there wouldn’t be another griffin for another hundred miles at least. But, there were countless other creatures with nasty intent to run into, even just more endrega. 

So Geralt pressed on, forcing himself to go faster even as his vision started going blurry from the blood loss and his body got heavier and heavier. 

Finally, after what felt like hours he finally heard it--the distant sound of Jaskier’s heart pounding in his chest. Geralt followed it, nearly crashing into the other man--who was on his knees in the dirt. Geralt didn’t have time to think, he was seconds from losing consciousness and he needed to get them both to somewhere safe so he could recoup. 

He snagged the back of Jaskier’s shirt and dragged him in the direction of the cabin. They couldn’t be that far off and it was Geralt’s best chance at something safe. Jaskier screeched and kicked against Geralt, trying to tear himself from Geralt’s grasp. But Geralt was running on fumes and his mind was slipping in and out of focus, only vaguely realizing he was starting to tear Jaskier’s shirt so he grabbed the man’s arm and finally-- _finally_ spotted the cabin. 

He didn’t have time to check it, just prayed his hunch about it being empty was correct, and tossed Jaskier inside, slamming the door behind them and turning to Jaskier who looked utterly wrecked by anger and terror and sadness. 

“Stay,” Geralt managed to croak out, and then he collapsed, his grip on consciousness finally slipping from his grasp. 

**VI**

Jaskier wasn’t sure exactly what Geralt’s angle was. He hadn’t expected the man to come chasing after him through the woods and he certainly hadn’t expected to be dragged through the forest to the cabin where Geralt demanded he _stay_ and then have the audacity to collapse. 

Jaskier was on him the moment he hit the floor, cursing his name to anyone that would listen as he peeled the man’s armor off to get a look at the wound pouring blood from his shoulder. The cut was brutal, but clean. A solid slash starting at the top left side of Geralt’s chest and ending right at the top of his shoulder. It was deepest on the front of his chest, where the talon had gouged itself into the man, but after that it was a mostly superficial cut.

Looking around frantically, Jaskier scanned the cabin for something useful. It was tiny, with just one room that didn’t even have a kitchen. There was a table, a few windows lightening up the room, and a dusty looking bed. He set Geralt down and hurried over to it, tearing the sheets from the bed and ripping them up. He snagged a couple of the pillows too and stuffed one of them under Geralt’s shoulder while he used the other as an impromptu cotton ball for Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier pressed it to the wound as he looked around for something that could help him, the cabin was empty though. 

Geralt groaned under Jaskier and he felt panic claw its way into his throat. “Fuck--fuck you, you stupid son of a bitch you’d better make it through this or I swear to the gods I will find a way to bring your unbearable ass back to life so I can strangle you mys-- _backpack!_ ” Jaskier’s rambling was cut short as he realized Geralt’s pack _had_ to have something in it. 

Jostling Geralt a bit he managed to remove the pack and he dug through it like a wild animal, tossing aside clothes and food and water bottles and a weird pouch full of little bottles that had brightly colored liquids in them. And then, in the front pocket of the gross, over-used, black bag he found a first aid kit. 

Jaskier almost cheered as he pulled it out, using one hand to keep pressure on Geralt’s shoulder while he struggled to unclasp the lock keeping the little box shut. All relief drained out of him though when he found the box empty, except for a roll of ace bandages and a little note. He pulled the bandages out, glancing between them and the gaping wound on Geralt’s shoulder and he cursed. 

“You dumb fucking asshole--you son of a bitch you lecture me on being unprepared but you go out hunting monsters with this shit??” He hissed, pressing into the wound a little harder. Geralt groaned and Jaskier winced, “fuck, you deserved that but fuck I’m sorry--I’m trying Geralt I’m--” the note from the ‘first-aid kit’ had fallen open, revealing surprisingly neat and loopy handwriting. 

_In case of broken idiot: pour Swallow down his gullet. (Shimmery blue)._

_-N_

Jaskier’s eyes immediately went to the bag of weird colored bottles, and glanced back to Geralt, and then to the bottles. 

“This better fucking work,” he muttered, diving for the bag and clawing through it until he got the ‘shimmery blue’ bottle. There wasn’t any label and Jaskier prayed it wasn’t some kind of trick or prank that might be fatal as he pried open Geralt’s jaw and dumped the potion into his mouth. 

“Swallow--swallow _\--swallow--fuck--_ ” Jaskier said as Geralt coughed and choked down the liquid. Suddenly dark veins popped out around his eyes, pulsing and withering like they were alive. Terror choked Jaskier as he realized he’d poisoned Geralt, somehow fucked him up even worse than before and now Geralt was going to die and Jaskier was going to be all alone again and he didn’t even have his stupid fucking lute. 

And then Geralt gasped and sat up, wrenching himself out of Jaskier’s hold and twisting around like he was ready for a fight. It threw Jaskier off balance and he landed on his hands and knees, looking at Geralt, who’s eyes had gone completely, solid black. 

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier whispered. 

“What did you give me?” Geralt demanded. 

“I don’t know-- _blue?_ The kit told me to give it to you!” Jaskier said. “Why are your eyes back? Geralt--?” 

“I’m fine, you did good,” Geralt said, and Jaskier felt like sobbing. He went limp against Geralt’s chest and punched the man lightly in his uninjured shoulder. Trying to catch his breath even though he was sitting down. 

“You are… _unbearable_ ,” he managed to gasp out as Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier. 

“You’ve said that,” he said, like any of this situation was funny. 

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Jaskier hissed, but Geralt was _laughing._ Honest to gods _chuckling_ , and Jaskier couldn’t help it, he joined him, and they sat on the floor of that stupid cabin, in a pool of Geralt’s blood, giggling like a couple of nutcases and clutching at each other. 

**VII**

The two of them laughed on the floor until Swallow started wearing off and Geralt passed out again, only to wake up a second later to Jaskier viciously cussing him out and shaking him. 

Geralt talked Jaskier through stitching up the wound and Jaskier insisted on cleaning it and then wrapping it in a combination of old ace bandages and older bedsheets. 

By the time they’d finished that, both had calmed down significantly, and all lasting adrenaline from the fight had worn off. They were laying side by side on the stripped bed, staring at the ceiling. Jaskier’s eyes were closed, but Geralt knew from his breathing that he wasn’t asleep. He was pressed up to Geralt’s side even though they had an entire queen sized bed, but Geralt wasn’t complaining. 

“Jaskier I’m sorry,” Geralt blurted, and Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open and he turned to look at Geralt. 

“Good, fucking cunt,” he hissed, but he wiggled closer, they lulled back into silence for a moment, until Geralt couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Why did you do it?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“Why did you break your lute for me?” 

Jaskier sighed and pushed himself up so he could lean over Geralt and look him in the eye, “because, you idiot, it’s just a lute.” 

“No--” Geralt tried, and Jaskier held up a finger, silencing him. 

“No, you listen--was that my most prized possession? Undoubtedly. Was I unreasonably attached to it? Certainly. Would I rather lose a limb than see it smashed? Abso-fucking-lutly-- _oh,_ ” Jaskier winced at the accidental joke, but recovered quickly. “But--I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Geralt watched him, he looked exhausted but still perfect. His hair was a mess, his clothes were torn and stained with blood, his cheeks were puffy and his eyes were red rimmed and there were red little scratches all over his arms but Geralt doubted he’d seen anything so perfect in his life. 

“I can replace a lute Geralt. Your unbearable ass on the other hand?” Jaskier smiled, “Not a chance.”

They shared half a second of silence and then both were pressing forward, catching lips with lips as hands went to hair and hips and they pressed impossibly closer, moving like these were their final, dying moments. 

Geralt's shoulder ached but he ignored it in favor of wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him closer, Jaskier’s hands were running through his hair and he made the sweetest sound when Geralt moved down his neck with barely-there biting kisses and--

“What the fuck,” a voice said, startling Jaskier so bad he jumped off the bed and dramatically covered his chest with a pillow even though he was still fully clothed. Geralt sat up, ready for a fight, until he recognized the speaker. He threw himself back down onto the bed and sighed. 

Yennefer was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, and a _very_ unimpressed expression on her face. 

“This is…” Yennefer looked around at the blood on the floor, Geralt’s stitched shoulder, the destroyed bag, and the mangled bed. Finally her eyes landed on Jaskier, a perfectly penciled eyebrow raising higher with each detail. “...Not what I was expecting when I sent you on a wild goose-chase,” she said. 

“Sorry, who are you?” Jaskier asked.

“The ex,” Yennefer said, she raised her brows and gestured between them, “And matchmaker, apparently.” She looked at the blood again, her expression read distaste, like she was more upset about the fact that it might be staining her boots than the fact that it had all come out of Geralt. He knew it was _mostly_ a facade. She knew he was ok enough to make out which meant he probably wasn’t in danger of dying immediately. Yennefer was a harsh woman, but she wasn’t heartless. “What happened here… exactly?” 

“Royal griffin,” Geralt said. 

“And endrega!” Jaskier added, and Geralt hummed his agreement. 

“Sounds like fun,” Yennefer said dryly, she turned her heavy lidded gaze on Jaskier.

“What are you doing on this side of the mountain?” she asked him. 

“Mental health retreat.”

She frowned, “You mean the mental health retreat on the other side of the mountain?” 

“Huh, well, that would make so much sense,” Jaskier said, drawing out the ‘so’ for effect. He didn’t look all that surprised though, and Geralt pursed his lips as he realized Jaskier had probably known that. 

Yennefer didn’t notice the moment, instead looking to Geralt expectantly, “If you apologize I’ll give you and boy-toy a portal back down the mountain.” 

Jaskier punched Geralt in the shoulder, earning himself a glare he ignored. “Apologize,” he said--demanded. 

“You don’t even know what for,” Geralt grunted. 

Both Yennefer and Jaskier gave him equally unimpressed looks and he sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. 

“This is why witchers don’t do connections,” Geralt growled, but it didn’t have any real anger behind it. 

“It’s funny that you still think you have the emotional capabilities of a grape,” Jaskier said, with a smug grin. 

“Everything was certainly easier when I didn’t have to worry about saving your scrawny ass.”

“ _Scrawny!_ I’ll show you--”

**VIII**

(It took a week for Jaskier’s lute to arrive, Geralt had picked out what he thought was the best quality money could buy. Unfortunately for him, the day before the lute arrived he and Jaskier had a rather exciting run in with some elves and the King of the Elves bestowed Jaskier with an elven lute and, well, thanks Geralt but this is _Elven._ )

**Author's Note:**

> AH! You read through the whole thing?? I love you!! Lemme know your favorite part and I _will_ find a way to make your wildest dreams come true. 
> 
> <3333 seriously tho, thank you, you're amazing!
> 
> If you wanna chat, scream, or rant with me about the Witcher at any hour I'm on [ tumblr!](https://luci-cunt.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (oh and did y'all catch Nenneke in there, love her, I've only read The Last Wish and half of Sword of Destiny so far tho so do NOT tell me she dies in the actual series I WILL murder.)
> 
> P.S: I'm sorry that I suck at endings, and (am not sorry) I am gay so Yennefer had to be in it. :D


End file.
